Chapter 4

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Regression, and the Start of Revenge
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The decision had been made long ago, so its execution was swift. Ariadne was confined to the west tower of San Carlo, still in her nightgown. As she sat on nothing but straw spread over the cold stone floor, the past fourteen years flashed before her eyes.

Cesare had been demanding in many ways, but as long as she catered to him, he was as refreshing as a summer breeze. They had spent a rather pleasant fourteen years together.

Cesare was impulsive. He would visit the Cardinal de Mare's residence, lift Ariadne onto the back of his horse, and take her for rides. He picked lilies of the valley on a forest path and gave them to her.

"They're submissive and know only me, just like you."

The wildflowers, with no one to lean on, hung their heads toward the ground, looking rather plain, but back then, she had thought it the highest praise.

In the distance, the joyous music of the King and Queen's coronation ceremony drifted in. She had chosen and prepared all of it. She had thought it would be *her* coronation. A day when her fourteen years of devotion and love would be rewarded.

Ariadne's reverie was shattered by a clear, melodious voice.

"A lily of the valley blooming in the wild is never treated as preciously as a rose raised in a greenhouse."

At the top of the west tower stood the newly crowned queen, Isabella. Her flaxen hair was swept up into a single bun, lavishly adorned with an abundance of pearls. A delicate lace veil, like dandelion fluff, covered her hair, and the white silk dress she wore was layered like a tulip, gently complementing her slender frame. It was clearly a meticulously crafted gown, but one Ariadne had never seen before. Isabella must have known this day was coming and had the dress made in advance.

There was so much she wanted to ask. Since when? Why? If she had wanted Cesare, she could have been the one engaged to him. Why push it onto me, only to do this now?

Ariadne looked up at Isabella, her expression full of questions. Her sister, Isabella, lifted her small chin and looked down at her.

Isabella had the audacity to be indignant. The moment their eyes met, she began to berate Ariadne.

“How dare you do that to my husband?”

Ariadne habitually lowered her head and apologized first. It was a response ingrained in her over many years.

"...If this is about Prince Alfonso, I'm sorry. I have no excuse."

But that wasn't the answer Isabella wanted.

“I'm talking about Cesare, you fool. How dare you try to become queen instead of me?”

*What?*

Isabella relentlessly lashed out at the stunned Ariadne.

“I am the noblest woman in this country. You should have had the sense to step down from your position as the Prince Regent's fiancée. Did I really have to go through all this trouble because of a vermin like you?”

Ignoring the bewildered Ariadne, Isabella fanned herself and continued.

“Father said so too, that I was the daughter who would elevate the de Mare name. You were just supposed to keep the seat warm. So arrogant.”

At this, Isabella's pretty face twisted slightly.

“Because of you, my name has been sullied with mud—rumors of being a widow, of having had a child. How are you going to take responsibility for that?”

A wave of belated bewilderment washed over Ariadne, and she found herself talking back to Isabella without thinking.

"Is that what you're angry about? What about Prince Alfonso... Does he not matter at all?"

She always promised herself she wouldn't, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

"He treated you so well, sister. Weren't you loved?"

"Love?"

Isabella smiled sweetly.

“All men are kind to me. If I had to return every one of their affections, would I have to love them all like a harlot?”

As Isabella listed the reasons Alfonso had to die, pouting with her delicate features, she was as beautiful as a demon.

“Alfonso couldn't give me the position of the noblest woman. That's reason enough to die.”

Ariadne, pale with shock, retorted.

"What about Cesare... Do you love him, sister?"

Cesare was the most precious thing in the world to her. A value more sacred than her own life. She worshiped and protected him, even at her own expense.

But Isabella stared at Ariadne with eyes full of amusement, as if she had just heard the funniest joke. Her fairy-like violet eyes looked as if they might burst into laughter at any moment.

"Oh, my sweet, foolish little sister. Life is a series of equal exchanges. Cesare made me queen. In return, he can now have me. Ours was a fair trade. Alfonso simply failed to bring a price worthy of my value. So, the contract was terminated. There is no love in it."

Isabella's smile deepened. She was smiling, but it was a smile devoid of mirth—as radiant and artificial as a silk rose.

"Instead of love, there is desire. Before Alfonso died, Cesare came to me, begging. He said he hadn't forgotten me for a single moment since he was engaged to you. That I even appeared in his dreams. That when he held you, he imagined he was holding me."

"What did you say?"

“He said you're so big it feels like holding a man. That your hair is so black it reminds him of a carrion crow.”

Isabella's pretty eyes glinted with malice.

“He said your breasts are so large and saggy he thought you were a dairy cow.”

As Ariadne stood speechless, Isabella stroked her own fine, flaxen hair.

“He said a woman should be small enough to fit in his arms to make him feel protective. He said my hair is a noble blonde, like an angel from the holy scriptures.”

The small, slender, amethyst angel smiled wickedly. Isabella pushed her small, perfectly featured face right up to Ariadne's and asked.

“Have you ever been the object of such hungry desire?”

She couldn't breathe; no words would come out. She wanted to scream that Cesare, *her* Cesare, would never do such a thing, but there were things that didn't add up. His changed attitude after becoming Prince Regent, the engagement ring he stopped wearing, his waning passion, the postponed wedding date.

"This is the difference between you and me. You get nothing in return for devoting your life to a man.”

Isabella offered this advice to her simple-minded sister. Whether her soon-to-be-dead sister would have a chance to use it was another matter.

“They don't know gratitude. Never trust a man.”

Isabella pouted her full lips.

“Cesare probably feels like he's going crazy wanting me right now. But after a year, after three years, he'll eventually grow tired of me.”

It was a problem that even the thirty-two-year-old Isabella, a beauty of unparalleled renown, could not overcome.

“Men are so strange. They do things deserving of a scolding, but if I get angry, they resent me.”

She twirled a loose strand of flaxen hair around her finger and continued.

"And then he'll start thinking about my loyal little sister, who groveled at his feet for fourteen years without a single complaint.“

“...Loyal?”

“I don't like loose ends. Father taught me that it's safest to eliminate all possibilities. Isn't that right, my dear sister?”

When Isabella raised her hand, the Moorish knight who followed her like a shadow drew his sword.

“I'll be going now. I have to attend the second part of the coronation ceremony.”

That coronation was meant to be Ariadne's.

“Make it painless, Agosto. She is my beloved sister, after all.”

Isabella was detestable to the very end. As she turned to leave, the Moorish knight who guarded her like a shadow approached, his sword held high. His left eye glowed with an ominous red light. The red glow in his left eye intensified, growing brighter and redder, like a lamp being turned up.

But Ariadne was too busy glaring at Isabella's retreating back to notice the Moor's eye. The injustice of not having been able to say a single word back was overwhelming! The Moor's scimitar flashed across Ariadne's wide-open eyes.

- *Swish!*

A searing pain in her neck, a fountain of gushing blood, and Isabella's small, retreating back. Her face was warm with her own blood.

And then, darkness.

She could have rested forever, but there was still so much left to do in the world. She could not close her eyes like this.

- The Golden Rule.

A faint, sobbing voice whispered in her ear.

- The karma you create, you shall pay for. The good deeds you perform, you shall receive in return. That is the Golden Rule.

*I want that. I wish it were so. Why isn't the world like that?*

- Can you do it?

Ariadne nodded frantically.

*I will. I can. I will see it through, no matter what.*

She thought she heard the owner of the voice scoff, or perhaps another voice pitying her, but a hazy heaviness crept through her body, filling her to her fingertips, and Ariadne lost consciousness.

***

"Gasp!"

She opened her eyes, bracing for a searing pain, but there was nothing. Instead, she saw the ceiling of an old wooden house with exposed rafters. It was the farm where she had lived as a child.

*What happened?*

Her body felt strangely light. Ariadne raised her hands. She saw thin arms and small hands. The firm skin was that of a child.

Having been told less than five minutes ago that she was built like a man with the breasts of a cow, she instinctively glanced down at her torso. Thankfully, the skinny, growing girl still had a flat chest, a small ribcage, and narrow shoulders.

*My God.*

Ariadne threw herself out of bed and ran to the old mirror. In the warped, cheap mirror stood a girl of about fifteen. She was lanky from a growth spurt, but her limbs were long and graceful, and her black hair reached her waist. Her green eyes stared intensely at her reflection.

It was her past self. With two exceptions.

Ariadne raised a hand to touch the spot beneath her left eye. There was a crimson beauty mark, like a teardrop. It hadn't been there before.

And there was the last joint of her long left ring finger, shining brightly. The one she had severed for Cesare. As if by magic, the finger was whole again. But the joint that shouldn't have been there was slightly redder than the rest of her hand. A faint red blush swirled beguilingly around the tip of her ring finger.

Ariadne's wonder was interrupted by an unwelcome guest.

- *Slam!*

"Ariadne, you useless thing!"

A scrawny old woman shouted as she threw open Ariadne's door.

"The sun is high in the sky, and you're still lazing about!"

The old woman swung the broom in her hand haphazardly, beating Ariadne about the head and neck.

"Can't even wake up on time! Do you have any idea how many people are going hungry because of you?"

Ariadne didn't know it, but she was on cleaning duty today and had nothing to do with the meals. But even if she could have explained, Old Woman Gian Galeazzo wouldn't have spared her. Beating the young maids was a pastime for Old Woman Gian Galeazzo, and she especially enjoyed tormenting Ariadne. The fact that this girl of noble blood was groveling on the dirty floor just like her—no, even lower than her—always gave the spiteful old woman a thrill.

Ariadne raised her arms to shield her face. The broom struck her arms and face in turn, stinging and painful.

The past was repeating itself.

The spring of her fifteenth year. The day she was thrown into high society, a den of beasts, with no one to look after her.

Today was the day Ariadne was to be summoned to the Cardinal's residence in the main castle of San Carlo.